theatrical_muse Prompt 233: Surprise
Surprise! Your mother/a priest/an arch nemesis/the tax man/dinosaurs/your ex/a famous talk show host is at the door -- and at a most inopportune moment! Now what?!
What had inclined Father Stephens to knock his aged knuckles on the blue doors of the incredibly blue police box in the middle of the road that day was something he would never be able to suitably explain without using the words 'daemon', 'Satan' or 'influence'.
Still, his hand rapped sharply against the door, his mind thinking that perhaps there were some poor souls living inside for lack of any other proper shelter, and wondering idly where the box had come from in the first place, as he had walked this street everyday and never saw the curious object once. He had brushed it off as his inattention to detail, but he had a nagging feeling that it might perhaps not be just a simple absence of mind when he had been living in this town for five years.
A yell that seemed strangely distant emitted from inside, followed by an odd noise that sounded eerily like a bookcase falling over, except that was impossible considering the size of the box, unless it was a very small bookcase with miniature, lead weighted books that collided with floors with a loud thump.
More sounds, more yelling.
He knocked again, and shook the handle. The doors refused to budge but they rattled just the slightest bit, indicating that they were firmly locked from inside the box.
Footsteps suddenly entered the mixture of bewildering noises coming from the ridiculously blue object and the doors burst open, revealing a man dressed in full Edwardian regalia, albeit missing the jacket. Though aristocratic in dress, he looked very much worse for the wear, his shirt and vest ruined, his cravat now little more than a string tied around his neck, his collar loose and brushing against his cheek, and his hair severely impairing his vision.
Despite all of this, he gave a beaming smile. "Oh, hello!"
A clatter and a shout came from behind the strange looking man, interrupted intermittently by the sound of something heavy hitting against something soft.
The next voice was a woman's.
"Doctor? Who is it?"
"Do you know, I have no idea! Who are you?"
"Er... I'm... I'm Father Stephens."
The doctor turned around. "He says he's Father Stephens! Do any of you know a Father Stephens?"
"I don't think so!"
"What's your father doing here? I didn't even know you had a father, Doctor!" The male voice that spoke was strangled and slightly pained, as if he was in a difficult struggle with something inhumanely strong.
"Oof! I think he means a religious father, C'rizz. It's a sort of -- oh, we'll explain later. Doctor, tell him we're a little bit busy!"
"I can't do that, I haven't even introduced myself." He smiled unnervingly and held out a hand, apparently not minding at all that he seemed more than a little mad. "Hello, I'm the Doctor. Just 'Doctor'. Not Doctor 'who' or Doctor 'what' or Doctor 'what kind of a name is that', it's just the Doctor."
"Doctor, is this really the time?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Doctor!"
"No, right, right, you're right. Not exactly the time for pleasantries, is it. I'm very sorry," he said, "But I'm afraid we're a little bit preoccupied at the moment."
"One can never be too busy for God." Father Stephens said firmly.
"Perhaps not. But I think he might give us a reprieve in this case. It's quite urgent, you see. Slight trouble with the furniture."
The father simply looked back at him sceptically, causing the Doctor to look a little nervous.
"Charley!" he called back, "I don't think I'm being very convincing. You're the same species, you talk to him." He then disappeared from the door, giving the man outside a very clear view of the cavernous innards of the police box.
The priest's eyes boggled in impossible astonishment, his jaw dropping open as he surveyed the dark wooden interiors of what was definitely not the insides of a blue box.
"What..."
A girl, who he could only guess as the one call Charley, stumbled into view, looking as haphazard as the Doctor, who was now running to help the figure behind the large glowing central column in the middle of the vast and impossible room. On the floor was another man, whose skin colour could only be described as light green and was quite busy grappling with what looked curiously like an ottoman. With teeth. Very large teeth.
"Doctor, I think it's... I think it's trying to get under my feet!"
"It's an ottoman, what did you expect it to do?"
"Well, I was sort of getting the impression that it was trying to eat me." C'rizz said wryly, dodging the furniture's next leathery attack.
"It is." The Doctor told him cheerfully. "Getting under their victim's feet is their way of hunting."
"That doesn't seem like a very efficient way of catching their prey."
"You don't know how comfortable they are."
"Hi, I'm Charley." said the girl, holding out a hand of her own. It was left quite alone, suspended in the air as the priest raised a hand of his own, trembling just slightly as he pointed, astounded, astonished, and just simply shocked at what he was seeing.
"What... How..." The second half of those sentences seemed to have taken a bit of a vacation, free as they were from any form of coherent and sensible thought, or, in fact, any form of coherency and sensibility and proper laws of physics whatsoever, that was not tied down by thoughts.
Not that Father Stephens believed in the laws of physics. God was what held them to this Earth, after all.
Charley smiled sympathetically as a collection of shouts and snarls burst from behind her as the ottoman got a good hold on the Doctor's arm. "It's very complicated, you probably wouldn't understand. I know I don't. I once asked him to explain it to me, and he just said something about boxes and a doorway connecting them. To be honest," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, "I don't really think he knows how it works."
"That isn't true!" The Doctor yelled defensively, shoving the footrest to the side and backing away as it bounded off the nearby bookshelf, scattering more books onto the floor. "You say that about everything, Charley. I know perfectly well how my TARDIS works, thank you very much, you just never listen."
"How does it work then?"
He opened his mouth to answer her, but he was cut off as C'rizz raised a hand that was holding a clearly aged volume in a quite defensive manner, obviously meaning to throw it as a way of holding off their beast. "No! Wait!" The Doctor ran up to him and ripped the novel from the Eutermesan's grasp. "The Picture of Dorian Gray, First Edition! I've been looking everywhere for this! I can't believe you almost destroyed a piece of treasured English literature, C'rizz, I'm disappointed in you."
C'rizz gave an exasperated sigh. "Well, we need something to throw at it and I didn't see anything else around here."
"I don't have a habit of keeping heavy objects just in case I need to throw them. It wouldn't go well with the candles. Ah, but here's one." The Doctor set the book he was holding aside with great care and picked up a different one that had been sitting on the corner of a desk. "David Copperfield," he said, with a shrug, by way of an excuse.
C'rizz threw it.
The thing was torn into pieces in moments as they came into contact with razor sharp teeth.
"I should have done that." The Doctor commented mournfully. "Charles never would have published it then."
"What should we do now?"
"Run, I think."
"Where to? We're in the TARDIS, Doctor."
"Good point."
In the luckiest (or perhaps unluckiest, depending on one's point of view) of lives, there was always an area in that lifetime where all of one's preconceptions of how life worked, the fact that apples fell down, that balloons went up, that several thousand years ago an unfathomable being pointed at a rock and demanded there to be life on it, were all thrown out the window and replaced by something altogether more repugnant and inconceivably confusing. Or in this case, ottomans with teeth, police boxes that were smaller on the outside and a man whose skin was blending in rather well with the wall behind him. This moment was that point for Father Stephens, and he was not doing a very good job in handling the information.
"Is that an ottoman?" he asked, his voice incapable of exceeding a whisper as the gallons of shock deluged his brain and drowned out his speech capabilities. His brain attempted to soak in the information as best it could, but it was less like a sponge and more like a brick wall, albeit a brick wall that was slowly giving away to the tide.
"Unfortunately, yes." Charley said. "It's a very long story."
That he could imagine.
"I only thought a new ottoman would be rather nice..." The Doctor said weakly in some slight defense.
"A new ottoman that's trying to eat us, Doctor!"
"Well, I didn't know what when I bought it, did I!?"
The object in question growled menacingly, as if simply daring the Doctor to go back and demand a refund.
"Charley," The Doctor held out a cautionary hand to her, motioning her to step back despite her being much further away from the ottoman than he was. "I think we should perhaps let our good father go..." he paused. "That Father, I mean. Of course, I don't think we should let go the... Father er... up there. Not that Father, of course. It makes it sound rather like we're about to put him down, doesn't it? Not that we're--" He motioned apologetically at the flabbergasted priest standing next to Charley. "Er... perhaps I should stop talking about that altogether. Charley, just... tell him we're busy, will you? And close the door."
After a few more quickly rushed out flow of words, the door was soon closed in the priest's face without any resistance, as his mouth remained too motionless to object.
As soon as the door clicked shut, however, a cacophony of crashes and collisions exploded behind it, mostly likely with actual explosions, as any cacophony is not complete without a proper explosion, and the Police Box suddenly and inexplicably began to fade into background, soon leaving behind nothing but a strangely formed rock.
After what seemed at least half and hour of incessant open-mouthed staring, the priest finally made his way slowly home, his mind blank and quite unable to talk to anyone.
***
A week later, Father Stephens, who had spent the past seven days convincing himself that it had all be one bizarre dream, the doorbell rang, tolling out a tune as he opened the door.
"Hello!" The Doctor beamed. "Do you remember us?"
The door slammed before he could say another word or reveal with a flagrant flourish that he had night stand with claws.
"Well, that was unexpected."
The Eighth Doctor
Doctor Who
1,789 words
OOC: I am a querent. And clever_wanderer's mun is a cartomancer.
What had inclined Father Stephens to knock his aged knuckles on the blue doors of the incredibly blue police box in the middle of the road that day was something he would never be able to suitably explain without using the words 'daemon', 'Satan' or 'influence'.
Still, his hand rapped sharply against the door, his mind thinking that perhaps there were some poor souls living inside for lack of any other proper shelter, and wondering idly where the box had come from in the first place, as he had walked this street everyday and never saw the curious object once. He had brushed it off as his inattention to detail, but he had a nagging feeling that it might perhaps not be just a simple absence of mind when he had been living in this town for five years.
A yell that seemed strangely distant emitted from inside, followed by an odd noise that sounded eerily like a bookcase falling over, except that was impossible considering the size of the box, unless it was a very small bookcase with miniature, lead weighted books that collided with floors with a loud thump.
More sounds, more yelling.
He knocked again, and shook the handle. The doors refused to budge but they rattled just the slightest bit, indicating that they were firmly locked from inside the box.
Footsteps suddenly entered the mixture of bewildering noises coming from the ridiculously blue object and the doors burst open, revealing a man dressed in full Edwardian regalia, albeit missing the jacket. Though aristocratic in dress, he looked very much worse for the wear, his shirt and vest ruined, his cravat now little more than a string tied around his neck, his collar loose and brushing against his cheek, and his hair severely impairing his vision.
Despite all of this, he gave a beaming smile. "Oh, hello!"
A clatter and a shout came from behind the strange looking man, interrupted intermittently by the sound of something heavy hitting against something soft.
The next voice was a woman's.
"Doctor? Who is it?"
"Do you know, I have no idea! Who are you?"
"Er... I'm... I'm Father Stephens."
The doctor turned around. "He says he's Father Stephens! Do any of you know a Father Stephens?"
"I don't think so!"
"What's your father doing here? I didn't even know you had a father, Doctor!" The male voice that spoke was strangled and slightly pained, as if he was in a difficult struggle with something inhumanely strong.
"Oof! I think he means a religious father, C'rizz. It's a sort of -- oh, we'll explain later. Doctor, tell him we're a little bit busy!"
"I can't do that, I haven't even introduced myself." He smiled unnervingly and held out a hand, apparently not minding at all that he seemed more than a little mad. "Hello, I'm the Doctor. Just 'Doctor'. Not Doctor 'who' or Doctor 'what' or Doctor 'what kind of a name is that', it's just the Doctor."
"Doctor, is this really the time?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Doctor!"
"No, right, right, you're right. Not exactly the time for pleasantries, is it. I'm very sorry," he said, "But I'm afraid we're a little bit preoccupied at the moment."
"One can never be too busy for God." Father Stephens said firmly.
"Perhaps not. But I think he might give us a reprieve in this case. It's quite urgent, you see. Slight trouble with the furniture."
The father simply looked back at him sceptically, causing the Doctor to look a little nervous.
"Charley!" he called back, "I don't think I'm being very convincing. You're the same species, you talk to him." He then disappeared from the door, giving the man outside a very clear view of the cavernous innards of the police box.
The priest's eyes boggled in impossible astonishment, his jaw dropping open as he surveyed the dark wooden interiors of what was definitely not the insides of a blue box.
"What..."
A girl, who he could only guess as the one call Charley, stumbled into view, looking as haphazard as the Doctor, who was now running to help the figure behind the large glowing central column in the middle of the vast and impossible room. On the floor was another man, whose skin colour could only be described as light green and was quite busy grappling with what looked curiously like an ottoman. With teeth. Very large teeth.
"Doctor, I think it's... I think it's trying to get under my feet!"
"It's an ottoman, what did you expect it to do?"
"Well, I was sort of getting the impression that it was trying to eat me." C'rizz said wryly, dodging the furniture's next leathery attack.
"It is." The Doctor told him cheerfully. "Getting under their victim's feet is their way of hunting."
"That doesn't seem like a very efficient way of catching their prey."
"You don't know how comfortable they are."
"Hi, I'm Charley." said the girl, holding out a hand of her own. It was left quite alone, suspended in the air as the priest raised a hand of his own, trembling just slightly as he pointed, astounded, astonished, and just simply shocked at what he was seeing.
"What... How..." The second half of those sentences seemed to have taken a bit of a vacation, free as they were from any form of coherent and sensible thought, or, in fact, any form of coherency and sensibility and proper laws of physics whatsoever, that was not tied down by thoughts.
Not that Father Stephens believed in the laws of physics. God was what held them to this Earth, after all.
Charley smiled sympathetically as a collection of shouts and snarls burst from behind her as the ottoman got a good hold on the Doctor's arm. "It's very complicated, you probably wouldn't understand. I know I don't. I once asked him to explain it to me, and he just said something about boxes and a doorway connecting them. To be honest," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, "I don't really think he knows how it works."
"That isn't true!" The Doctor yelled defensively, shoving the footrest to the side and backing away as it bounded off the nearby bookshelf, scattering more books onto the floor. "You say that about everything, Charley. I know perfectly well how my TARDIS works, thank you very much, you just never listen."
"How does it work then?"
He opened his mouth to answer her, but he was cut off as C'rizz raised a hand that was holding a clearly aged volume in a quite defensive manner, obviously meaning to throw it as a way of holding off their beast. "No! Wait!" The Doctor ran up to him and ripped the novel from the Eutermesan's grasp. "The Picture of Dorian Gray, First Edition! I've been looking everywhere for this! I can't believe you almost destroyed a piece of treasured English literature, C'rizz, I'm disappointed in you."
C'rizz gave an exasperated sigh. "Well, we need something to throw at it and I didn't see anything else around here."
"I don't have a habit of keeping heavy objects just in case I need to throw them. It wouldn't go well with the candles. Ah, but here's one." The Doctor set the book he was holding aside with great care and picked up a different one that had been sitting on the corner of a desk. "David Copperfield," he said, with a shrug, by way of an excuse.
C'rizz threw it.
The thing was torn into pieces in moments as they came into contact with razor sharp teeth.
"I should have done that." The Doctor commented mournfully. "Charles never would have published it then."
"What should we do now?"
"Run, I think."
"Where to? We're in the TARDIS, Doctor."
"Good point."
In the luckiest (or perhaps unluckiest, depending on one's point of view) of lives, there was always an area in that lifetime where all of one's preconceptions of how life worked, the fact that apples fell down, that balloons went up, that several thousand years ago an unfathomable being pointed at a rock and demanded there to be life on it, were all thrown out the window and replaced by something altogether more repugnant and inconceivably confusing. Or in this case, ottomans with teeth, police boxes that were smaller on the outside and a man whose skin was blending in rather well with the wall behind him. This moment was that point for Father Stephens, and he was not doing a very good job in handling the information.
"Is that an ottoman?" he asked, his voice incapable of exceeding a whisper as the gallons of shock deluged his brain and drowned out his speech capabilities. His brain attempted to soak in the information as best it could, but it was less like a sponge and more like a brick wall, albeit a brick wall that was slowly giving away to the tide.
"Unfortunately, yes." Charley said. "It's a very long story."
That he could imagine.
"I only thought a new ottoman would be rather nice..." The Doctor said weakly in some slight defense.
"A new ottoman that's trying to eat us, Doctor!"
"Well, I didn't know what when I bought it, did I!?"
The object in question growled menacingly, as if simply daring the Doctor to go back and demand a refund.
"Charley," The Doctor held out a cautionary hand to her, motioning her to step back despite her being much further away from the ottoman than he was. "I think we should perhaps let our good father go..." he paused. "That Father, I mean. Of course, I don't think we should let go the... Father er... up there. Not that Father, of course. It makes it sound rather like we're about to put him down, doesn't it? Not that we're--" He motioned apologetically at the flabbergasted priest standing next to Charley. "Er... perhaps I should stop talking about that altogether. Charley, just... tell him we're busy, will you? And close the door."
After a few more quickly rushed out flow of words, the door was soon closed in the priest's face without any resistance, as his mouth remained too motionless to object.
As soon as the door clicked shut, however, a cacophony of crashes and collisions exploded behind it, mostly likely with actual explosions, as any cacophony is not complete without a proper explosion, and the Police Box suddenly and inexplicably began to fade into background, soon leaving behind nothing but a strangely formed rock.
After what seemed at least half and hour of incessant open-mouthed staring, the priest finally made his way slowly home, his mind blank and quite unable to talk to anyone.
***
A week later, Father Stephens, who had spent the past seven days convincing himself that it had all be one bizarre dream, the doorbell rang, tolling out a tune as he opened the door.
"Hello!" The Doctor beamed. "Do you remember us?"
The door slammed before he could say another word or reveal with a flagrant flourish that he had night stand with claws.
"Well, that was unexpected."
The Eighth Doctor
Doctor Who
1,789 words
OOC: I am a querent. And clever_wanderer's mun is a cartomancer.